


The Lioness Into The Lion's Den

by Rozarka



Series: Circumnavigation [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bad Boys Who Aren't So Bad After All, F/M, Fluff, Gryffindor, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Humor, Plot What Plot, Post-Hogwarts, Romance, Seduction, Sensuality, Truce, UST to RST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:13:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22226194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rozarka/pseuds/Rozarka
Summary: A date on a balcony and a resolution to the unresolved. (Or, what happened when Hermione took Cormac up on the invitation he extended at the end of 'The Elephant In The Closet'. )
Relationships: Hermione Granger & Harry Potter & Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger/Cormac McLaggen
Series: Circumnavigation [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/15033
Comments: 45
Kudos: 160





	The Lioness Into The Lion's Den

**Author's Note:**

> This final instalment of my Circumnavigation series comes about ten years late, but I've never forgotten that I promised, so here it is. I hope, gentle reader, that getting it out of your system will feel as satisfying for you, as it does for me. :) Thank you so much to [Muridae](/users/Muridae/) for the beta!

Cormac's flat lay on the first floor above a florist shop, in a well-tended street off Diagon Alley. There was a photographer's studio on one side of the florist's, and a French restaurant on the other. This was an attractive, quiet part of wizarding London, and the flat seemed spacious from where she stood withdrawn into a shadowy nook on the opposite side of the street. Three double windows and one set of French doors that stood ajar to a wrought-iron balcony were lit up from the flat behind them, and she could see him pace from room to room.

Restless. Waiting for her. She was a little late.

Hermione wasn't sure what _she_ was waiting for. She'd promised him she'd be there at seven, and she usually was on time as a matter of course. It was normal to be nervous, under the circumstances, but she didn't feel like she'd be taking a risk entering Cormac's flat. This day — the hours she'd spent locked up with him in a cramped, uncomfortable cellar room — had made her re-assess some of her most fundamental views of his character. Ron's warnings and Harry's look of disbelief flashed through her mind, but she shook them off and took a determined step out onto the cobbled street, just as Cormac swung the French doors open and leaned his arms on the balcony railing, a lit cigarette in his hand as he breathed out a trail of smoke between his lips.

They both stilled, watching each other. He was elegant in black trousers and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled halfway up his strong forearms. Hermione felt overly casual in her jeans and long-sleeved t-shirt, and overly hot in the warm summer night. She'd felt the need to cover up.

"Those are very bad for your health, you know," she called up to him, her head craned back. 

"I use them only on rare occasions to calm my nerves," he said with a slow grin, flicking a glowing speck of ash onto the street. "For instance when a girl I've invited torments me by spying on me instead of turning up on time."

Hermione blushed. "I didn't mean to torment you. I'm nervous, too. But I didn't think you'd be."

He shrugged his wide shoulders, and then straightened up. "Finished your surveillance, or d'you want to watch me some more? I could put on a show for you."

The teasing, lewd tone was familiar, and strangely, it made her relax. She laughed in alarm as his fingers went to his belt buckle. "Don't bother. I'm coming up," she said, and ran across the street.

Three flights up, he was waiting for her at the door. The moment she saw him, she came to an uncertain halt, random impressions flashing in a rush of heat across her senses. He was so tall silhouetted in the doorway, so large; she saw it even better here than in the closet where he'd seemed to take up the entire space. There was a slight wariness in the way he held himself, looking down at her as she slowly climbed the last steps. His forearm, leaning on the door jamb, caught the light from inside the flat, showing a covering of sun-lightened hairs. His mouth had a faint, wry smile. He'd had his mouth between her legs.

On the wall beside the door was a brass plate with the name of the resident etched in a bold, showy script. She touched it with fingertips that shook just slightly. "Very you."

"Why, thanks." Grinning as if he knew exactly the thought that had made her fingers tremble and her voice breathless, he opened the door wide for her. "Come on in, Hermione."

A mild scent of menthol cigarettes and cedar cologne wrapped around her as she stepped past him into a small hallway. Into the lion's den. She felt a warm touch alight on the small of her back, and her heart was racing already. She turned to take in the flat's interior through the door into the living-room. It was bright, with high ceilings, and furnished mostly in black and neutrals, with odd objects here and there that hinted at his curse-breaking credentials. It looked very much a man's space, but better kept than any of her friends' bachelor flats that she'd ever been to. Cormac had been in the Slug Club on the strength of his family connections. He could probably afford a housekeeper, even a house-elf. Her brow furrowed at the thought.

"What?"

"Your flat is very neat."

"And you mind that?" he asked, eyebrows raised in confusion.

She had to laugh, realising the conclusion she'd jumped to was highly premature. "No, I — er, forget it."

"If it helps, the place looked a wreck when I came home this afternoon. Does that make me more manly, or something? I've been tidying for an hour."

"I refuse to believe that you worry about a lack of manliness, Cormac." But she did like that he'd made an effort for her. She lowered her gaze, feeling the warmth of his hand burn against the small of her back, and noticed that he was barefoot in his nicely tailored trousers, a concession to the balmy summer night. Even his feet were manly and handsome. "It just... crossed my mind that you might have a house-elf."

"Oh." She could feel the weight of his gaze as he considered her. "Still on that crusade, are you? My parents have one. I grew up with her; she's family. Is that a deal-breaker?"

Hermione sighed and looked up again. "No. I mean... yes, I'm still on that 'crusade', if you want to call it that. But it's not necessarily a deal-breaker." Even Harry had a house-elf, damn it. "I'm strongly opposed to the enslavement of house-elves, but as long as they're treated well, I don't judge individual owners for being part of a very old, inhumane system."

He shook his head, with that indulgent look on his face that most wizards and witches tended to get whenever she brought up these ideas. "It's in their nature to serve, you know. They're not happy as free."

"That's what Muggle slave owners have claimed throughout history to justify the practice. And history has repeatedly proven them wrong." She raised her chin as she met his gaze. "In fact, I knew an elf who treasured being free so much that he died in the war fighting for everyone's freedom. He sacrificed himself rescuing me and my friends from captivity."

"Yes, I read your article about Dobby the free elf in the _Prophet_ last year. A touching story." It was hard to say if he were being flippant or sincere. He gave a lopsided smile. "You haven't changed. We're not yet out of the hall and you're already on a roll, trying to win me for a cause."

She couldn't stop a flinch, and studied him sharply, trying to figure out what lay behind the smile. Disappointment, annoyance?

"No, I haven't changed. This is me," she said, her voice cool, and deliberately stepped away from his hand on her back. "And if that's going to be a problem, I'd better leave at once. I've already been informed I was too much by _one_ man." That wasn't at all fair to Ron, out of context, but the words still tumbled out as hurt and some disappointment of her own was pushing to the surface.

He caught her gently by the elbow. "Hey. I didn't say it was a problem. Or 'too much'. I like that you have some fire in you. I always have."

"Only because you imagine it says something about how passionate I'd be in bed," she said, feeling her cheeks heat up from a mixture of rising temper and something else. Perhaps from the way he'd replaced one careful touch with another, and from the warmth of his hand.

"When I was seventeen, that was the main reason why, I'll admit. Maybe it's part of it still." He grinned, letting go of her arm. "But I don't need to speculate about how passionate you'd be in bed any longer. I've seen enough to make an educated guess. Shall we?"

She was too flustered by his words to react to the gesture into the living-room at first, but then, with a haste that made the move feel disconcertingly like an escape attempt, she stepped before him into the other room.

The kitchen and the living-room were one long, large room. At the far end from the kitchen was a door that she guessed led to his bedroom. There were modern art pictures on the wall. No curtains, a few green potted plants.

"You've got a nice place."

"Even if suspiciously tidy?"

Hermione swung to meet his gaze, but was disarmed by his amused expression. Disarmed and a little desperate. "Can you please try to forget I said that? Sometimes I _am_ a bit too much. I mean, I'd barely walked in the door—" She pressed a hand to her forehead, considered the possibility of pressing it across her mouth. "Maybe this was a bad idea."

"No, it's not." Cormac closed the distance between them, but only gave her hair a light, teasing tug in passing and continued to the kitchen counter. "You're just nervous."

He had a bottle of Médoc airing, and poured a glass for them both. When he held one up in offering, she walked up to him and took it gratefully. "Thanks." She sipped at the red wine, felt the warmth of it slide down her throat and settle in the pit of her belly. "You're quite smooth," she said with a reluctant smile. She wondered how much practice had given him that smoothness. A lot, she'd wager. He had the looks and he certainly seemed to have retained the interest in pursuit.

"Nah, the veneer is going to crack any minute now. But I'm making an effort for you."

"That's flattering." Her palm felt slippery against the cool glass. 

Leaning against the counter, he sipped at his own wine, his gaze heavy and lazy on her. "You're not too much," he said abruptly. "Were you too much for Weasley?"

"What? No. He didn't mean... That wasn't fair of me." She drew a breath to collect herself, and started again. "It's just that things that are only a mild quirk in a friendship can become huge irritants in a relationship on the rocks. It was something he said in the middle of an awful quarrel and I could tell he regretted it the second the words were out. They just hit a sore spot, I guess. But I'm sure I gave him some wounds he's still licking, too."

Cormac swirled the wine slowly in his glass, his eyes narrowing. "From the way he bounded to your rescue today, I'd say there's something else he'd like to still be licking."

She almost dropped her glass, coughing on a sip of wine. "Right. There went your smooth veneer. In case you're wondering," she got out.

"Sorry about that." He didn't look the least bit repentant, just patted her back lightly as she regained her breath. "I can't blame Weasley, even if I resent him like hell. You tasted fantastic, and the way you reacted... God damn." His eyebrows climbed in mild concern as he took in her expression. "He _did_ go down on you, I hope?"

"Cormac—" She put her glass on the counter this time, with a woefully revealing clatter. "You can't — you can't say things like that," she protested, pressing her palms to her cheeks. "You said we could just talk. This is—"

"This is talking. We're just talking." He put his glass aside, too. "So you're saying I can't be honest with you?"

"No, I'm saying... that that's a _lot_ of honesty, very fast."

"Yeah, I've been told more than once that I'm too much, too," he said slowly. "But it seemed like you could handle it, earlier. Like you enjoyed it, even."

"I can handle it." The retort came automatically — if she were in the lion's den, well, she'd come here willingly, and she was a Lioness, too, damn it! — but her heart was pounding in her chest as she looked up at him in sudden, frustrated shyness. "I know we did things that would make you assume... But it's happening so _fast_ and I'm not used to being _pursued_ this way and I don't know what to do with you now with all this, this—" she gestured out wildly with both arms, vaguely aware she'd started pacing— "this _space_ around us. And God, back there, what happened, it was so crazy that I don't even know how to begin to talk about it, and—"

She sank down, registering as her bum met the closed toilet lid that she'd walked into the loo on her own two feet but that it was Cormac's hand at her back that had steered her there as she talked. He shut the door of the small room that only comprised the toilet and a washbasin with a mirrored cabinet on the wall above it, then dropped to his haunches in front of her and took both her hands in his, squeezing them firmly.

Leaning in, he kissed the tip of her nose, then drew back, with a grin that was both solicitous and mischievous as he nodded to the close walls. "All right, is this better? It's the smallest room in the flat."

She burst into laughter, surprised and touched and — well, completely _charmed_ , blast it. "You didn't have a closet conveniently at hand?"

"Well, sure. But if I get you inside a closet again, then by God, my intentions to behave will fly right out the window."

"You have intentions to behave?" she asked softly, searching his face.

"As long as I'm not encouraged to misbehave. Though I should warn you that I don't need much encouragement." Cormac chuckled. "Do I detect a trace of disappointment?" 

"No," she protested, dropping her gaze to their hands, hers held so gently in his much, much larger ones. "It's just that you coming on so strong makes it difficult for me to know what you expect from me tonight, and that's one of the things making me... well... really nervous."

He nodded slowly. "I know I have a big mouth. I can try to tone it down if it offends you. But it's just a game; call it seduction or courtship or whatever you like. Birds and bees, Hermione. I'm looking for reactions, trying to attract you to me." His mouth quirked up. "Basically I'm just happy that you're here. Screw expectations. Does that help?"

She swallowed, a bit dizzy, but she appreciated getting frankness for frankness. "I guess. Yes. I'm sorry if I'm dense about this. I didn't really have a courtship with Ron. We'd been friends for too long at that point." Taking a deep breath, she looked at him. "I don't want you to tone it down. I know that's contradictory, but... it's actually rather exciting to never know what will come out of your mouth."

"Exciting, huh?" Cormac smiled, leaning forward a fraction and putting a hand on her cheek. She could feel his breath, warm on her skin. "Tell me, Hermione, what are _your_ expectations?"

She was blushing deeply now, from his proximity, her heart racing. This _was_ pursuit, of a most blatant, intoxicating kind, and there was an unexpected, coy instinct in her that wanted to lead him on, to tease and prolong the anticipation of the game. But her body reacted to his warmth and his scent and the teasing heat in his eyes, and there was another instinct, competitive and proud, that wanted to turn the tables a bit. She raised a hand and touched his cheek, eyeing him carefully as she saw instant desire slacken his mouth. Slanting her head, she leaned in and pressed her mouth to his, parting her lips in a sigh at the taste and feel of him, at the strength in the arm that slid around her and caressed up and down her back. She opened her mouth wide to the gliding thrust of his tongue, curling her own around his. It chased tremors through her.

Catching her breath at how quickly her arousal had flared up, she withdrew her mouth a fraction from his and licked her lips. "I just wanted to see if... well, I thought that would make us both less nervous," she said in a rush.

"Mmm. It worked. I could think of much better words to describe how I feel right now than nervous." He grinned, and squeezed her hands before standing up again and pulling her with him. "So now we're both properly relaxed before dinner? We won't need to eat the filet mignon here in the loo?"

She laughed, a palm braced against his chest in an effort to steady herself, or re-establish a token distance; she wasn't sure. "Not unless you'd planned it that way. I'd hate to upend your strategy."

"My plans are slightly different. Come on, let me show you."

What he showed her, after getting the glasses and the bottle of wine, was a table set for two on the balcony from which he'd first greeted her. There was a linen tablecloth, fine china and crystal, and a trolley side table with covered dishes. The balcony boxes trailed sweet-smelling flowers, the covered dishes revealed bacon-wrapped pepper steaks with a cream sauce, roast potatoes and sweet summer vegetables. Cormac pulled out the chair, lit the candles in the gleaming silver candelabrum with a flick of his wand, and Hermione was suddenly and acutely chagrined. He'd gone to such effort, and she'd barely brushed her hair, in her reluctance to show too _much_ effort. 

"I should have dressed up a bit more," she said with a regretful grimace. "I just... it didn't occur to me that you'd pull out all the stops like this."

"You like it?" He grinned broadly as he topped up their glasses. "Don't be daft. You wear those jeans and that shirt beautifully, if you don't mind me saying." He winked at her, but when he'd sat down he took her hand across the table and his eyes shone with an admiration that dumb-founded her. "You look ravishing. You always do. And if you think this is pulling out all the stops, I can't wait until I have more than a couple of hours to prepare for a date."

She bit her lip, her face feeling as though it must radiate heat as his thumb stroked the back of her hand. His hand was so _big_ cradling hers. He was almost ridiculously masculine and so obviously, unapologetically smitten with her, and it all made her feel a bit upended but very _pleased_ , too, to a degree that kept taking her by surprise. She let him serve them both, leaning back and simply enjoying the feeling of being spoiled.

"I hope the steaks are all right. They had to wait a bit as my lady was fashionably late," he said, throwing her a teasingly reproachful look.

"I'm sorry. I honestly thought we'd be having take-out pizza or burgers or something." 

"Is that really the impression I give?" he asked, looking appalled.

"No! It's just the impression I have of boys... well, men, in general," she said, laughing and shaking her head. "But confess now, you ordered the food from the French restaurant downstairs, right?"

His lips pursed against a smile as he cut into his steak. "Please present your evidence."

"Well, circumstantial such. You only had two hours. You had time for a shower and change of clothes, and you tidied your flat, too." Hermione felt the blush in her cheeks deepen, but grinned recklessly. She wasn't capable of his lewd intonation, but her breathless pitch suggested much the same thing as she tossed his words from earlier that day back at him. "And you did tell me you liked to... eat French. A lot." 

"Mmm. I _did_. I confess." His eyes had narrowed in speculative surprise at her daring, and he licked his lower lip reflexively before sinking his teeth into it. Between her legs, she felt a twinge of lust, a distinct, specific throb in her clit. He'd had his mouth there... right _there_. Shaken and excited, she took a bite of her own steak. It was medium rare and delicious.

As if by tacit agreement, they both played it safe over the rest of dinner, chatting about work, gossiping about colleagues, teasing and laughing a lot. The tone was still flirty, but the innuendo was conspicuous by its absence, like a low electric thrum barely out of earshot. She enjoyed it, though, discovering that she could talk about commonplace things with him, everyday things. He demonstrated both understanding of and respect for her work, didn't push her for details she couldn't give as an Unspeakable — which was actually bloody rare in her experience — and he showed a pride and ambition in his own work that she whole-heartedly identified with. And that, at least, came as less of a surprise than she might have expected. Beneath all her negative preconceptions of him, he must have managed to convince her of his capabilities during those few occasions when they'd worked together. Not that she'd have been the least willing to admit it, just a day before.

"Dessert?" Cormac asked at last.

She nodded, smiling with anticipation after the delicious main course. "Please."

"I like how you say that word." He winked at her, stood up and offered her his hand. Suddenly her face felt rosy again, and she remained in her chair, her heart hammering.

"What exactly is dessert?" she blurted.

He leaned down, his breath shifting a strand of hair close to her ear. "It's something sinfully sweet that one enjoys after dinner." His lips brushed the upper rim of her ear, and she shuddered and closed her eyes. "If you'd care to indulge with me?"

She threw caution to the wind and pushed her chair back, standing up next to him. And she half expected him to lead her to his bedroom, but instead he steered their steps to the low divan at the other end of the balcony. "Make yourself comfortable," he said. "Dessert coming up."

He disappeared into the flat and turned up a minute later with two glass coupes, sitting down next to her on the divan. Dessert turned out to be white chocolate and mango mousse with white chocolate ganache, and her eyes practically rolled back at the first taste.

"Mmhhh," she moaned, and Cormac threw his head back and laughed out loud with delight.

"That's an interesting reaction."

"Mmm... ahh." She sighed, slipping the spoon out between her lips. The combination of the aromatic, airy fruit mousse with the sweet creamy chocolate sauce might be as close to a gastronomical orgasm as she'd ever had. "That's... _oh_..."

Still laughing, his eyes had narrowed as he took her in. "There's something very satisfying about reducing you to moaning incoherence, Granger."

She tried to restrain herself, but couldn't stop an instinctive noise from escaping at the next spoon, as well. "I don't mean to," she defended herself, clamping down on a nervous giggle as she took in his expression. "It's just so... _good_."

"So you say. Naughty minx." His eyes flashed with amusement and plain, undisguised lust. He had a spoonful of his own dessert, his eyes half-closing as he considered the taste. "I think you know exactly what you're doing."

She lowered her gaze, sighing around another heavenly mouthful. "What am I doing?"

Her eyes flew wide open as Cormac reached up and closed his fingers around hers on the spoon, sliding it with exaggerated slowness out between her lips. "Driving me... out of... my fucking mind," he muttered as his gaze followed the motion. She licked her lips as he withdrew the spoon from her lips, and he groaned.

"It's just dessert," she said, and now she wasn't quite sure whether she was teasing or hedging. She wanted _something_ to happen; she was definitely, deliberately playing with fire, and still she wasn't a hundred percent sure she was ready for the consequences.

"Is it?" He dipped the spoon into the glass again, and fed her another bite, watching her reactions greedily. She moaned, exaggerating on purpose, and burst out laughing at the look on his face.

"I'm sorry," she said in a rush, still laughing. "I was determined to be sensible tonight, but—"

"But what?" he asked quietly when she broke herself off.

"But I suppose that if I were going to be sensible, I shouldn't have come here at all." She was speaking too fast and her heart was beating wildly in her chest, and when he raised his fingertips to her hot cheek, lust rolled over in crashing waves, low in her belly. 

He stroked a strand of hair away from the side of her face. "I'm glad you came. But it's not too late to be sensible, if that is what you want. I don't want to screw this up by pushing you too fast."

"But you're not really pushing, are you? Maybe... coaxing. But I think I like it." She swallowed hard. 

"Hey." He raised a hand and cupped her cheek in a gesture so startling, so careful with her, that it threw her right back to a few hours earlier, when he'd been all she had to rely on in that tiny underground room. "I reckon you're still a bit nervous. And probably trying to think about anything else than what actually happened today in that closet."

She leaned into his broad palm. "Yes," she whispered. "Yet I can't _stop_ thinking about it. And it makes me..." She trailed off, not at all sure how much she wanted to say.

"What does it make you? Embarrassed? Confused?" He took her dessert glass out of her hand and placed it on the floor beside his own, before his fingers traced over her cheek, her jaw, her neck, and into her hair. "Aroused?"

Heat flared to her skin where his fingertips touched her, spreading to her entire face in seconds. It made her feel scarily vulnerable, was what it did, utterly laid bare, when she thought of what exactly had happened. Cormac had seen her _wet herself_. He'd rubbed the small of her back and whispered to her as she did. There was a part of her that was terrified that she'd let him see far too much. And then she had touched him, rubbed him to orgasm with her hand, and just the thought of how hard and thick he'd been pushing back against her palm made her press her thighs together against the ache of want between them.

She gave a jerky nod. "Embarrassed, check. Confused, check. And... well, all of those," she admitted in a hush. 

"It's all right that you're all of those." A roguish grin lit up his face. "We're in the same predicament on at least one count."

"Yes?" she said, with a little smirk in return. "I'll take a stab in the dark and guess that you're not overly prone to confusion and embarrassment."

"Hey, I have no shame, it's a well established fact. And I've fancied you since I was seventeen, nothing to be confused about." His hand slid down, fingers sifting through her hair, touched the nape of her neck. "I want you very much, Hermione."

The gentle touch, the way his gravelly voice caressed her name, all had her short of breath. "Cormac," she whispered, her face tilting back, her lips parting.

"Yes?" His gaze was trained on her lips, and dark with desire as he looked back in her eyes. "I need to know what you're thinking," he murmured, raising her hand to his mouth and pressing his lips to her fingertips. His lips were full and soft, and he gave her longest finger a teasing nip of teeth before drawing the tip of her thumb into his mouth. He suckled it gently, his eyes full of laughter. And she wanted him so much, right then, desire coiled so tight between her legs, that there was no way she could tell him what she was _actually_ thinking.

Or wasn't there? Why shouldn't she tell him? If anyone could handle it, it had to be Cormac. The question was whether she was prepared for the consequences.

"I'm thinking—" She faltered, but then raised her chin to meet his gaze. "I'm thinking," she said softly, "that I'm so turned on right now that if you put your hand on me, I'd come so fast... I wouldn't be able to look you in the eye after it."

As she spoke, she watched the laughter in his eyes simmer down to something no less sensual, something far more purposeful. He'd released her thumb from his mouth, and just plaited his fingers into hers as he lowered their arms. "And yet, here you are, telling me, and looking me straight in the eye. Brave Hermione."

"I don't know how brave I feel." Her voice didn't come out as steady as she'd hoped, because she'd started to tremble with anticipation and excitement. "I do know that I want you very much. Please—"

"That word again." He stood up, took her hand and pulled her with him, only taking time to kiss her softly, briefly, his tongue licking into her mouth, before tugging her with him inside the flat. He drew her close to him immediately, his free arm going around her as he walked her back against the nearest wall, his breath quick as he held her gaze. "My hand on you," he repeated in a low, deep rasp. His voice, his look was commanding in a way that sent a thrill down her spine. "Where do you want it? Show me."

She tugged on his hand with hers, their plaited fingers together. Down, over her belly, her hip, until their knuckles grazed the soft, aching place between her legs. Her hips jerked. Even through the sturdy material of her jeans, the light contact went through her like the surge of a wave. "Oh," she whimpered. "I want it so _much_."

There was a sound in his throat, a bit like a growl. Carefully, he extricated his fingers from hers. But instead of pressing his hand against her like she'd expected — hoped for — he moved his hand up, to the front of her jeans, deftly unbuttoning her flies. She raised both hands, digging her fingers into his overarms, clutching hard, making a wordless noise when his warm fingers touched her bare stomach and ran along the edge of her knickers.

"Here?" he asked in a half-whisper so seductive, she didn't know how she was still on her feet.

"Oh _yes_..."

His fingers slipped under the edge into her curls, curving to cup her mound. One pressed in between her folds and circled down over her clit. She gave a desperate sort of moan, rising on tiptoe to ride the caress.

"Christ," he whispered roughly. He centred the caress better with the pad of his finger, exactly where it felt best. She was so wet the friction was a smooth, gliding blur, just hard enough to make her skin and her scalp prickle and her legs start shaking. "Like this," he confirmed in a soft, firm voice, not a question. It was as though he were committing her response to memory, and _that_ thought was so arousing in itself that she whimpered helplessly. 

"Yes. _Yes._. Oh..." Her head snapped back as the swelling tension crested and broke under his fingers, and she jerked against him with a moan, her legs buckling under her as electrifying pleasure fired from her clit and through all limbs. His arm around her waist and the steady support of his body were the only things keeping her upright as the intense sensations washed over her and through her, seeming to erase the floor under her feet.

After a minute there was only her pounding heart and her dry throat and her face pressed against his chest. She hiccupped out slow, whimpering breaths as she came down, his fingers gentle on her, drawing it out, slow pulses clenching and fading between her legs and low in her belly and making her jerk lightly against him at intervals.

"Look at me, Hermione. I think you can, after all, yes?" His gruff voice was teasing, but far from unaffected.

She raised her face to him, heavy eyes blinking open.

"Did that help?" he murmured, easing his hand out from her knickers.

"Yes. No. I still want more."

"Good. I might have cried otherwise." He suddenly bent a little, put his arm behind her knees and scooped her up, holding her close to his chest. "Bed all right, or too predictable?"

"I'm a fan of comfort myself," Hermione said, tucking her head in against his jaw.

"For a first go, I agree." He strode with her through the flat, opening the door she'd guessed led into his bedroom.

She didn't know what she'd expected from Cormac McLaggen's sleeping quarters. Black silk sheets, or a bearskin rug, or a mirror over the bed, perhaps. Some nod to lewd sensuality, at least. But it was almost spartan, with a large — of course — mahogany bed made with dark blue bed-linens. She'd guess it had been custom made to accommodate his height. Apart from a matching wardrobe with a mirrored door, there was little else of furniture. The nightstand had a paperback on it, lying open and face down, and she craned her neck to see what it was.

"You like detective novels?"

"Yes, little bookworm, I do. Please focus. I changed my sheets for you, aren't you going to notice?" He grinned, leaned down to sweep the duvet aside and lowered her onto the mattress with care.

For some reason, that revelation made her blush to the tips of her ears. "It's murder on their backs when you crack them open that way, you know," she said, glancing at the book, and then worried her lip with her teeth as she searched his gaze. "You... expected this, then."

"Expected? No. I hoped." He smiled. "Of course I hoped." 

She gave a tentative smile back and touched the sheets. "Fresh bed-linens. Nice touch."

"Isn't it? I tidied away the porn mags, too." He started laughing as she gave an exclamation and punched him in the chest, lying down beside her and pulling her close despite her indignant struggle. "Kidding," he chuckled. "Well, mostly. I _am_ a single man in my prime, remember."

"Stop while you're ahead, McLaggen," she said, fighting the smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "I suppose I'm especially glad you changed your sheets, then."

"Cormac," he murmured, and stroked her cheek, tilting her face up to kiss her. The heat in his eyes made her stomach swoop.

"Cormac," she agreed, parting her lips for him, inviting him in.

The meeting of their lips put a stop to the teasing, uncovering something much more needy and urgent right under the surface. He pressed his lips to hers, sliding their tongues together, and she moaned, feeling her body open up to the caress, her shoulders relaxing into the mattress, the whole arrangement of her limbs inviting exploration. She wanted to explore, too, her fingers busy with the buttons in his shirt. It was fiddly work when she was being so thoroughly, sweetly distracted, but she managed to get the shirt mostly open while they kissed, the flaps falling apart and letting her palms discover a strong chest covered in crisp, curling hair.

He was no less eager to take her up on her invitation. He slid his hand under her t-shirt, splayed it out over her stomach, and she arched up in an impatient motion that begged the hand to progress further. Slowly, he inched the edge of the t-shirt up, to the underside of her breasts, and then further. His hand covered the lacy cup of her bra, and Hermione found it hard to breathe, suddenly. She raised a hand and put it over his, so much bigger, on her breast, pressing carefully down. "Yes," she told him, her voice wavering with her need.

He met her gaze, and his hands reached under her back, finding the clasp to her bra and opening it so he could push it out of the way. His hands grazed her breasts, long fingers trailing and brushing over her nipples, which were already stiff; hard, tingling points under the light touch. She was close to begging again when he bent his head to her, teasing in long, soft licks with the flat of his tongue. A melting sensation went through her stomach and hips, and she arched up, crying out, as he finally drew a nipple into his mouth and suckled, slow, firm pulls with lips and tongue, drawing pleasure and heat into the sensitive point.

She turned her head restlessly from side to side on the pillow, grabbing fistfuls of the sheets. Oh god, the tight, heavy yearning between her legs was sweet agony, so fierce she was undulating her hips against him, trying to fuck the air. Cormac let her nipple go with a 'pop' as he raised his head from her breast to consider her, gold-green eyes alight in undisguised satisfaction, wolfish hunger in his eyes. His big hands fell down to her hips, using the opportunity to roughly tug her jeans and knickers down on her thighs as she arched up against him, one hand tearing away from the sheets to try to open his flies.

"Hey, now," he said huskily, kissing his way across her stomach to her hip as he closed his wrist around her hand and led it away, with a shaky-sounding laugh when she gave a futile growl of desperation. "Shh, pretty girl, you can have it, anything. You can have whatever you want. But I want a real taste of you first. I've had a hard time thinking of anything else for hours."

"Really?" she whispered, going suddenly, dizzily compliant. It flustered her to think of him sitting across from her at dinner thinking of _that_ , but it was most gratifying too, given how her own thoughts had strayed in that direction. She whimpered in blissful anticipation as he nuzzled against her mound, dropped gentle kisses to the tops of her inner thighs, his tongue snaking out over the tender skin, as soft as she remembered it from that fleeting moment underground. "Yes, yes," she breathed out, spreading her thighs as wide as she could, and was rewarded by a deep masculine groan and the sensation of his thumbs parting her, and then the firm, smooth swipe of his tongue between her soaking wet folds.

He made a noise again, a deep grunt of satisfaction that both turned her on and made her blush, more so when she heard him swallow her juices down and then lick again, back and forth, a sound in his throat somewhere between a growl and a hum. Oh god, he was good at it, which somehow came as no surprise at all. Tracing the secret shape of her, suckling on the soft folds, darting his tongue out to press and circle over her clit for long, breathless seconds before making teasing detours. He pressed his tongue _inside_ , thrusting smooth and sinuous while his thumb rubbed small, suggestive circles just above her clit, so tantalisingly close, and Hermione let out something that might have been a shout if she hadn't pressed her hands against her mouth, her cheeks, her hot face. He kept making these humming, swallowing noises that told her how obscenely wet she was, and her hips were undulating, riding his tongue, his face, with a shamelessness that some small, still-rational corner in her mind marvelled at, because she'd always found this particular act just a tad hard to get into, nothing Ron had done wrong, just a difficulty shutting up the turmoil in her head. Now, she didn't care. She just wanted to come, and Cormac was tormenting her so deftly that she had little care for his comfort or perspective at all. "Cormac," she groaned, and he slid his tongue out, plunging two fingers inside her instead, curling up and rubbing, making her tense again, longing to spread her thighs wider. Her hands reached down to push at her jeans, struggled, gave up. "I want... I want—"

"What?" He curled an arm under her and around her hips, placed his other arm across her stomach to still her frantic bucking and press her down against the mattress. His eyes glittered at her, all hot lust and wicked delight. "What do you want, Hermione?"

He leaned down and kissed her exposed, swollen clit reverently, and she jerked in his firm grip and tried to raise her hips to chase the touch. His solicitous chuckle made her run hot and cold with desperate lust and a sweet shock of vulnerability that melted through her last reserve. "I want you to stop jerking me around and get me off!" Hermione commanded in her outdoor voice, astounding herself.

His shoulders were shaking with laughter. "When you put it that way..." He licked her once, twice, then drew her clit tight and snug into the warm softness of his mouth, suckling on her in long, firm pulses, swiping and rubbing his tongue over the tight little nub with each deep pull, stroking her inside with his long fingers. 

She gasped his name, begging again and again, clutched at his shoulders and shoved her hips into what he was doing to her, and almost screamed as it crested, her tense thighs clenching on his hand and her mouth going slack as she rocked softly in the pull and surge of release, whimpering with pleasure and relief. She lay panting, eyes closed, and caught her breath, small noises caught in her throat at each throbbing aftershock, his tongue still swirling on her, then his thumb taking over as he moved up alongside her, kisses on her collarbone, her throat, her cheek...

He pulled his fingers out and Hermione moaned at the loss, sitting up dazed and uncoordinated. "Inside me," she said with shaky intent. Her fingers were impatient but ineffective trying to open his flies. "Cormac, help me! Oh," she said, and would have blushed if she could, "and sorry for yelling at you before."

"I'll try to forgive you, babe." Laughing, he helped, then groaned as he lifted his cock out and it fell heavy into her eager hands. She stroked him and his mouth fell open, and he leaned on an elbow beside her, his other hand working his trousers down over his hips while he stared, head bowed in intent concentration, at her fingers gliding on his cock. "Yeah, touch me," he murmured, his voice so gruff it sounded close to pleading. "Feels so fucking good. Wait... let me—" He reluctantly drew back, and yanked her jeans and knickers the rest of the way down her legs and over her feet, then quickly divested himself of trousers and boxers, found his wand and cast a contraceptive charm. He drew her close and rolled over on his back, taking her with him, surprising an 'Ahh!' out of her as she suddenly found herself straddling him. 

"All right?" he asked, raising a hand to push her hair out of her hot face.

"Mmhm." She felt upended, though, quite literally, as she steadied herself, had counted on him to be on top. He seemed so naturally dominant, and it was so easy to let him lead, to leave the direction and decisions to him.

Maybe that was exactly his point. Maybe he wanted to make certain it was her decision, too. His thumb smoothed over her cheek. "Sure? Cause I could do this any way you want and be _so_ fucking happy."

She nodded, and gripped his cock at the base, rose up on her knees and brought the tip to her entrance. Slowly, she rocked up and down, biting her lip with a frown of concentration, suddenly very grateful for the control as she took her sweet time. She was so very wet, but he was big and it had been a while for her. She whimpered as her body protested, then slowly adjusted. When she began moving, it was just tentative circles at first, barely any motion up and down.

Cormac's hands were fisted in the sheets, his lips wet as his tongue swiped over them, his expression hovering between rapture and torment. "Jesus," he growled. "You're killing me, Granger."

"Sorry," she squeaked, a whine of earnest effort in her voice.

He laughed. "No, take your time, sweetheart. I don't actually mind too terribly dying this way... _fuck_." He coiled up against her as she braced and moved more decisively. They both gasped at the friction. Tight, slick, still half-torturous for her yet so very, very good. Gradually it became easier, soon it was only good. And then, leaning on one elbow, he moved his free hand to the base of her belly, ran two fingers teasingly down to her taut, bared clit, and rubbed. She threw her head back and groaned, tightening around him at once to the extent that her motions almost stilled. "C-Cormac! I can't when you... when you—" 

"I fucking love how you say my name," he said quietly, and that earnestness in his voice made her only hotter. He kept rubbing her clit slowly, his muscles coiled with tension against her body, and she was astonishingly close again, so fast.

"Oh _God_ ," she groaned, tossing her head back.

"That's not my name... unless you insist."

She opened her eyes to find him flushed with desire and grinning. Laughing despite herself, she smacked his shoulder. "No, you're more of the devil, aren't you." 

"Yeah yeah, flattery. Need a bit of assistance, Granger?" He sat up fully, bracing on one arm while his other coiled close and firm around her hips, giving himself leverage to push past the quivering tension in her body, going deeper than she'd been able to make happen on her own. The sensation made her reel as she struggled to accommodate him, her head falling forward, leaning against his shoulder. He groaned and she could guess that it was a tenuous hold he had on himself at this point. "Touch yourself," he said, fingers digging into the hollow in her hip, and when her rhythm hitched in hesitation, he leaned his head forward to lick and whisper right in her ear. " _Now_ , Hermione," he growled. "I want you to come on my cock, and I'm fucking close."

She dropped her hand between her legs, mewling as her fingertips brushed her hard, slick clit. It was intimidating, she was so tight already, growing more so every second, but her climax was building on its own momentum now and she couldn't have stopped if she wanted to. Inexorably, writhing on him, she drew closer to the edge, as he drove himself ruthlessly up inside her, their efforts coalescing, frantic. "Yes, yes, yes," she gasped. She seized with a soft squeal, muscles shaking violently, and a moment later she was blissfully silenced by an incandescent white-out of pleasure, clutching and releasing on his length, while Cormac exploded in purpose, fingers digging into her hips and pushing her over on her back while his hips drove his cock into her harsh and fast. A vicious snap of his hips, and he was shouting and trembling as he ground into her, and Hermione threw her head back, found her voice again and cried out, her waning orgasm tumbling headlong into another.

Oh sweet god. He took his weight off her at once, shifting over on his back with her, and she collapsed on him in slow motion, trusted him to catch her and felt him do so with gentle hands and his hard body relaxing under her own. Her sweaty cheek rested on his sweaty chest, her hair damp, the hair on his chest soaked as well. His heart was pounding under her ear, in time with hers. There was a rumble in his chest. She realised he was laughing, panting for breath, and the corners of her mouth lifted up in instinctive response. Before she knew, she was giggling, too, giggling like mad, not sure where she found the energy or the breath for it.

"Did you enjoy your dessert, love?" he asked, grinning at her, his big hand tracing slowly in the cooling sweat along her spine. She preened at the caress, at the easy endearment.

"I did, although that was more like a full-course meal in itself."

"Agreed. And I enjoyed every little sip and bite of it." He licked his lips and winked at her.

Hermione raised a hand and drowsily caressed his jawline, his strong chin, his lips, and he nipped gamely at her fingertips. "I hope your bedroom has sound-proofing charms," she muttered, blushing belatedly, because heavens, she had never made noise in bed on quite such a scale before. Come to think of it, Cormac had given his pleasure loud and enthusiastic expression, too. Wonderful, lewd, exhibitionist bastard. 

"Ah, not only the bedroom. I could take you over the kitchen table without disturbing the neighbours, too," he offered, and seemed to be fighting off a smirk at her expression. "Or you could suck me off in the shower and make me roar."

She moaned softly at the renewed throb between her legs, reminding her of how pleasantly sore she was. "You're going to kill me," she murmured.

"Nah, I'll take better care of you than that. If you'll let me." He paused, his hand stilling on her back, warm and heavy, lending weight to the warm expression in his eyes. "'You're going to'...does that mean you will? Let me?"

"Take care of me?" She wrinkled her nose.

"Take care of your sexual needs," he amended, lips twitching. "I wouldn't presume to suggest any other neediness in the very capable Miss Hermione Granger." He bit his lip then, and his hand drifted up her spine to her neck, lifting the heavy weight of hair from her damp nape. "Except... the romantic ones, too, perhaps," he added with a rather appealing trace of diffidence in his hopeful smile. "'Cause I've got a suspicion that for such a blunt-spoken and practical-minded little thing, you've got a pretty mushy heart, there, Granger."

"Well, for such a brash and filthy-minded huge thing, so have you!" she shot back, feigning outrage. But she couldn't help smiling, because it was true, wasn't it? And there was hope in this; common ground, indeed.

They rested in silence then, for a while. The silence felt easy, for all that her thoughts were racing a bit. Cormac, she suspected, was simply falling asleep. At length she extricated herself from his embrace. "Need to go to the loo."

"Okay, but come back," he muttered drowsily, reluctantly releasing his hold on her, protesting as she bent over their discarded clothes, "no, don't put clothes on... oh." He broke himself off, watching with interest as she shrugged his white shirt on, leaving it hanging open. "Never mind, that's all right." 

She smiled, enjoying the lionesque laziness of his appreciative gaze as she crossed the room to the door - and then froze as a racket came from the other room. "What-"

"The Floo." Cormac groaned and sat up. "God damn!"

"You didn't ward the bloody Floo?" Hermione's voice was squeaky and she hastily began buttoning the shirt while slamming the door shut by leaning against it. Cormac was grinning, which made her scowl furiously as she fumbled with the buttons. "It's not funny! Are you expecting someone?"

"Hermione," shouted an all too familiar voice from the other room.

Cormac cleared his voice but he couldn't hide the fact that he was laughing. "Seems the question is whether you are expecting someone."

"Ronald - Bilius - Weasley!" she snarled, so incensed that she flung the door open without concern for her modesty. Her bare thighs were nothing Ron hadn't seen before, after all. But beside him in the middle of Cormac's living-room stood Harry, chivalrously shielding his gaze with his hand as he kept a firm grip in Ron's shirt back with his other. Ron was simply standing there gaping as if struck by lightning.

"So fucking sorry, Hermione, I tried to stop him; he was convinced you were being ravished-" Harry raked a hand through his fringe and gave her a sheepish smile. "Uh, involuntarily, that is."

"It was entirely voluntarily," Hermione said in clipped tones, "and you can take away that hand, Harry, honestly, I'm decent, we've been on the beach together!"

She felt herself mellowing fast, because Harry had clearly only attempted to do damage control, and Ron was looking so mortified she couldn't find it in her heart to shout at him after all. "Scoot," she said firmly to them both. "Best intentions, I get it, but I'm fine."

Through the open bedroom door she heard Cormac clear his throat, and glanced over her shoulder to see him sitting up with the covers drawn over his lap. "Leftovers and wine out on the balcony, guys," he said pleasantly. "Dessert and ale in the fridge; help yourself and I'll be with you in a minute. I'll just put on some pants if Hermione will shut the door -

She quickly retreated back inside, closing the door behind her. "All right, Cormac, isn't that a bit awkward?"

He shrugged. "Is it? They're your best friends; they like you. I'd like them to like me, as well." He was rising from the bed, pulling on his trousers, smirking as she grabbed her wand and waved it around sending cleaning charms at them both. "What? I thought you liked me dirty. I won't let them stay too long," he promised. "I know you want to get at my body again, baby girl. I can't wait."

And she would have taken grave and vigorous exception to 'baby girl,' the ridiculous temerity of which had her gaping at him, but he was downright _adorable_ standing there, the big oaf, sleepily attempting to get his pants on with one big hand and running a hand through his dishevelled hair with the other, such uncomplicated good will in his teasing grin that she could only burst out laughing. 'Baby girl', indeed. No one had ever called her such a thing before, but from Cormac it sounded affectionate and a bit clueless and inexplicably sexy, just like him. And she did want to get at his body again, she realised with a rush of absolute certainty. Yep, there was no denying that.

"That one could get old fast, so don't make a habit of it," she said tartly. "And fair warning: if this evening ends up with the three of you male-bonding over ale, Quidditch talk and Exploding Snaps, you'll be going to bed alone, Cormac McLaggen." 

"Nope. I like ale and Exploding Snaps, but I like the sounds you make when you come far better," he said and hugged her, lifting her up off her feet a little and making her giggle, helping her to button the shirt up properly without hardly any groping at all. "Quidditch, now, that is closer to a draw but you may just have an edge. Go to the loo, love. I'll take care of the unexpected guests."

When Hermione got out of the loo five minutes later - taking time for a detour to the bedroom to put on her jeans under the shirt - she found the three of them sitting on the balcony, laughing, albeit somewhat strained, at something Ron was saying. Even Harry was starting to look less awkward. Cormac reached out an arm to her and drew her snugly in to his side, kissing the top of her head. "Wine? Ale?"

"Wine, and water, please?" She watched him go into the flat and turned urgently to the boys in the same second, lowering her voice. "He's actually _not_ like you think. Not like he was. He's a bit of a prat, still, but he was amazing today when we were cooped up together. He was good company, and chivalrous and... and kind to me; he truly was."

A resigned smirk was forming on Harry's lips as she spoke. "Relax, Hermione. He's a lot of a prat still, if you ask me, but it's obvious that you fancy him, so we'll try to get along." He nudged Ron, who scowled and blushed under his freckles to match Hermione's warm cheeks.

"Yeah, I reckon. Sorry. Acted a bit premature, I know, but I was just bloody worried-"

"I know, Ron, and I appreciate that. I would have thought that way about him before, too," Hermione said softly. "But give him a chance, all right?"

"Course, lust can interfere with good judgement," Ron said defiantly, his freckled face going even pinker. That good-boy modesty was one of the more endearing things about him, and Hermione grinned. "True, that. Remember Lavender Brown back in sixth? Yet you seem to be getting on well, now." Ron and Lavender had been on a few dates lately, she knew. She didn't know whether it amounted to anything serious, but Ron's expression did brighten at the mention of her. 

"True," he echoed and rubbed his chin, looking up as Cormac entered the balcony again with a glass of wine and a tumbler of water for Hermione. 

"Now," said Cormac. "What was that business today that kept you away for all that time? Heard a bit about it when I got back to the office, but I wouldn't mind getting details."

Ron and Harry politely obliged, filling him in on the day's drama, and then Cormac broke out a bottle of Ogden's, and as the mood relaxed with booze and the summer night sunk dark-blue and warm over the alley, it was Hermione who eventually suggested a game of Exploding Snaps just because it was something to do that didn't require so much polite conversation, leading instead to guffaws of laughter and a fair bit of competitiveness between the boys - though in the end it was Hermione who played coolly and won. And then it was Harry who firmly said they needed to get going, and Ron who quickly caught on, and Hermione who followed them to the door and got hugs from them both, and Cormac who sat on the divan when she got back out on the balcony, inviting her into the crook of his arm.

She sat down in his lap instead, and kissed him, happily and tipsily and just a tad tentative. It was still so new.

"That wasn't a disaster," she said, rather astounded now that she had time to actually consider how things had gone.

"Course it wasn't. We've all grown up a bit. And those two love you. I'm on probation still, I reckon. Will be for a good long while."

It seemed to strike the two of them at the same time, the hopefulness in that innocent little phrase. Cormac reddened. And Hermione grinned at him, flustered, not to say floored, but mostly thinking how enormously cute he was with that caught-out flush in his cheeks.

"If you end up deciding you have a good long while for me, that is, sweetheart," he said humbly - or as close to humble as Cormac could probably ever get - his lips twitching at last at his own blunder. 

She kissed him again, liking the endearment, and slid her hand under his shirt, fingertips playing through the hair on his chest to feel the steady beat of his heart against her palm. "It's early days," she said honestly. "But I like you... I like this... and if you keep up the only occasionally questionable behaviour-"

Cormac chuckled against her lips. "You're giving me incentive to act questionably right _now_."

"Is it working?" she asked hopefully. 

"Is _what_ working?" He waggled his eyebrows, biting his lip on a grin when Hermione burst into immoderate giggles at the innuendo, and stood up with her in his arms, holding her firmly against his chest as he carried her back inside. "Tell you what, Granger," he murmured, laughing at her small squeal when he nuzzled ticklishly against her throat, "you're about to find out... that it does."

-end-


End file.
